Penance
by dancingknives
Summary: Meg's killing people by the hundreds. Once she finds what she's looking for, she'll have Sam Winchester. S&D are close to their mother's killer, and they soon discover the secrets of their past, a history which surprisingly is somehow related to Meg.
1. Wicked

Meg looked up at the wayward stranger approaching her table. She was immediately tense in anticipation. His breath, stained with cigars and the fume of tobacco wafted under her nose and she cringed slightly.

"So," the other began, "explain to me again how you failed?"

"Sam, he was more resourceful than I expected, his flare drove away the Shadows long enough for them to escape. I promise I won't fail again, just, give me a second chance, next time the Shadows will kill them right away instead of just toying with them! I won't make—"

He silenced her with a wave of his hand and she shrunk back into her seat.

"There may not _be_ a next time!" he gave her no chance to reply, "you've already given them enough warning! I'm absolutely shocked you didn't manage to screw up even more and reveal that you didn't die! In case you haven't noticed, John is going to be a hell of a lot more aware now; he won't fall for your traps again."

Meg didn't say anything, just stared down at a random smudge on the table, trying to drown out her shame.

"You do what I say, and if you fail me again, then I will have to dispose of you."

He wordlessly left. Meg had two lone tears streaming down her face, they stung but she could take the pain. She glanced up at the swinging door. Her mask, bitter, angry. Her lips, taut and emotionless. Sam Winchester and his family were going to pay for making a fool out of her.

First, she'd need to track them again, then she'd need a ride. No problem.

Tears gone, her face once more exuberated childish joy and mysterious sophistication.

"Hey stranger," she said, taking a vacant seat next to a scraggly trucker, who immediately looked as if he'd won the lottery, "goin someplace north?"

* * *

"Neqa'el demon. Well alright, how do we kill it?"

"Dad's diary doesn't say anything specific, although, hang on a sec."

It'd been a month, only a month, and Sam was quite shocked at how quickly they'd fallen back into routine. Another day, another demon, another hunt, another day added to their never-ending road trip. He'd thought about his dad a lot recently, but he'd thought more of Dean. Dean who he was just beginning to understand again, after all, four years does put a dent in a relationship, no matter how close they once were. Dean who he was beginning to see for what his brother really was: a fighter, a damn tough one, but no where near invincible. If he'd ever had evidence that Dean actually possessed human emotions under that gruff exterior, it was the day he'd told him about his plans on leaving, the day they met Dad, the day they almost died.

"Ok, says here, that the Neqa'el," a pause, "oh, well, first off they're a tribe of demons."

Dean rolls his eyes, just what they needed.

"The Neqa'el are cat demons, they have been worshipped as gods for centuries and are generally known to be quite, ah, peaceful?

"Dude, did you miss the bodies and the autopsies? Those cats are anything but peaceful."

"Still reading. You can't really, kill them, it's more of a banishing spell."

Sam leaned back in the chair, "it doesn't make sense you know. Neqa'el don't kill for no reason, and they're not exactly evil or anything, they wouldn't just slaughter twenty innocent people."

"Well, we deal in the nonsensical and the crazy shit right? Shouldn't be too bad. Banishing spell, I'm thinkin easy?"

"Yeah, simple abjuration complex: holy water, incense, candles, chalk. Nothing too bad, which is why I'm thinking it's not just a couple of cats you know?"

"How bout this, you keep pokin away at that laptop, dig up some more stuff, and I'm gonna get a little shut eye ok? I'm drivin all day tomorrow, and Ragged Lake ain't so close by let's just say."

With all the modesty of a porn star Dean stripped and hopped in bed.

"Stop checkin me out Sammy and get some work done."

Sam's brows furrowed, he wasn't looking, he really really wasn't.

* * *

Hands slick with blood and entrails, she dug furiously into the body of the forty year old lawyer on vacation with his family, now all dead. Well, she'd find it sooner or later. She wasn't in that much of a hurry. Someone in this god forsaken place had what she wanted. Satisfied that it wasn't, at the very least, buried within this one, she tossed the corpse aside where it joined a field of others.

All ripped, maimed, decapitated, mutilated.

* * *

The empty road offered little solace, and Dean was in enough of a bitter mood. Could they not go one day without arguing? Sam sometimes honestly believed with all his heart that they must either really hate or really love each other, because with them, the bickering part was beyond simple sibling relations. No, it had its roots somewhere deep. Currently, Sam could admit that he was at fault, apparently he didn't know when to shut up. He even though Dean had been joking. Who just randomly says, 'so hey, still thinkin bout ditchin the hunt someday?' Well apparently Dean does, and he was just as much of an idiot for answering, with a blunt 'yes' nonetheless. That had brought along another train of blaming, screaming, shouting, punching god forbid! the damn Impala. They had serious issues.

Sam sneaked a look at Dean, who carelessly draped an arm out the driver side window and kept his eyes straight and focused on the road. There was no music. Sam let loose a small sigh.

"What Sam?" ouch, not Sammy, just Sam.

"What are you gonna say now? You gonna tell me I'm a fuckin' moron who doesn't give a crap about your life? You gonna say I'm a selfish bastard who wants you to stay with the hunt? Or are you gonna shut up?"

He shut it, but damn, it was going to be a long, stifling trip.


	2. Control

Meg inspected the fierce black contours that surrounded the Queen. She paced, clearly angry as she stared down at the other's blood-slicked, but clearly empty, claws. Ten more behind the Queen were bowed just as low, and all looked shame-faced.

"At least a hundred slaughtered, and NOTHING??" Meg was on the verge of hysteria. She glared deeply into the other's eyes, black slits amid a pool of gold, and continued, "I know where the object is, I've told you where it is, and you will go and kill every single human there until you find it!"

The cats shrank from her piercing gaze and slowly vanished back into the shadows gracing the cave. Meg, frustrated, punched a clean hole through the stone wall.

* * *

When they first arrived at the town, Dean was in as bad of a mood, and stalked off to pay for another dinghy motel room before Sam had the chance to say anything. Dean also neglected to tell Sam the location of their room, a deliberate act which resulted in the younger brother pacing down every hall, knocking on every door, until Dean's face came into view. Dean, with all his reflexes and sharp skills, didn't dodge the punch and staggered back in the room.

"Dude!" was the angry, somewhat muffled cry, "you fuckin punched me asshole!"

"You deserved it jerk."

Dean didn't say anything, which Sam noted was quite out of character, and just lied down on one of the spring beds, staring up at the ceiling. Sam made mental notes of Dean's sudden lack of…what's the word, rebelliousness? and resigned himself to unpacking their meager belongings.

"So this is Ragged Lake," Sam said the next morning, hands dug deep into denim pockets, watching a pale sunrise casting some light on the darkened sky.

Dean was deeply absorbed in a map, and hadn't paid any attention.

"Hey Sammy, look at this, I've plotted the most recent murders, they're all centered around the Southeast corner of Ragged Lake, well, the actual lake, not the town."

"Thinkin we head that way about now," Dean concluded, waving Sam back to the car.

Sam turned around slowly, breathing in the heavy morning mist. He thought it was awfully thick today, or was it always like this up here? The musk was starting to choke him. He clutched his chest and didn't even hear Dean yell his name as he sank into the muddy ground and into the dark.

* * *

Meg was pleased. The cats had easily killed most of the town's population. Regardless of their previous failures, someone would be found with it sooner or later. She waved her hand over a chalice of fresh blood, ripped minutes ago from the throat of some old woman she'd caught walking across the road. So that's why little old ladies shouldn't cross the road alone, she mused. The deep maroon surface quivered.

"We're getting close."

* * *

Sam woke up, coughing. His head was pounding. He had to find Dean. Why couldn't he see anything? His eyes were open, but all he saw was a haze of black that blocked out even the sun. He tried calling for Dean, but only succeeded in coughing some more.

"Sam, Sammy, talk to me, you alright?" Dean asked, shaking his brother. Sam had collapsed and passed out for a minute, lying there in the mud and grass. For Dean, that was an hour of trepidation, of fear that he'd lose his baby brother. He'd even proceeded to administer CPR when Sam came through with a cough, and sat up all on his own.

Sam could hear something, something faint.

"Dean?" He tried to answer, but his voice sounded small, drowned out by a pool of black silence.

"Dean?" Stronger this time.

"I'm here Sammy, stay with me Sammy, I'm helping you up, you ok?"

Sam rubbed furiously at his eyes to clear his vision, which was starting to come back to life, sunlight piercing the black veil.

"Dean, had…vision."

Dean blanched, were they getting so bad that having visions actually led to unconsciousness.

"It's not…not…the cats. They're…controlled." He coughed some more phlegm, and straightened himself a bit more, slowly letting the warm sun recharge his strength.

Dean didn't quite understand it yet. They knew it was the cats, they'd seen the pictures, studied the autopsy reports of claw marks. They'd researched the Neqa'el, there was no mistaking those marks. Were they brainwashed? Was that possible?

Sam sputtered and blinked a few times, his vision clearing and opening into his brother's furrowed face, drawn with worry. A few more blinks, a few more coughs.

"It's Meg, Dean. She's still alive."


End file.
